


A Major Party Foul

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Series: Peter Whump Dump [6]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Complete, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I suck at tagging, M/M, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Stark - Freeform, Peter isn’t Spider-Man in this one, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Read at Your Own Risk, Sexual Assault, Sixth Prompt is complete, Teenage Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trigger Warnings, Young Peter Parker, and stay safe, dad tony, i suck at summaries, peter whump, son peter, this one is rough guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: In all honesty, Peter didn’t even want to go to this stupid party in the first place, but his Dad has to go and he is definitely not going to sit in the Tower alone all night. Too bad Peter didn’t choose to stay home and watch a movie.Too bad indeed.





	A Major Party Foul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stormborn_88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormborn_88/gifts).



> Hello my beautiful and amazing readers!:D I’m so sorry for the delay on this prompt, Senior Year midterms suck, but I’m back now and I hope you enjoy #6 of The Peter Whump Dump Series yay!
> 
> A very happy early Birthday to the amazing and beautiful Stormborn_88 who is so nice and I cherish every comment of theirs very close to my heart!❤️
> 
> *MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF ATTEMPTED RAPE AND NON-CON*
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

It’s the loud music that is really starting to give Peter a headache.

  
The swell of the bass dips down for a second, rattling the half full glasses of champagne and shaking the polished floor of the hotel’s ballroom. From his view outside, the teenager watches as people dance, their expensive jewelry and tailored clothes glowing in the pockets of light. Looking quickly behind him, Peter lets out a small sigh of relief as he catches sight of his Dad making his way over, the man’s suit coat ruffling up in the slight breeze.

  
Shuffling from foot to foot, Peter tries to resist the urge to run a nervous hand through his hair, knowing that Tony would have a fit if the jell got on his clothes.

  
“Alright Pete, I’m just gonna talk for a little while, mingle with the crowd and what not.“ Tony begins once he climbs the carpeted steps, looking at the reflective screen of his wristwatch. “Maybe answer a few questions and—“

  
Suddenly he stops talking, looking Peter over in a way that makes the teen feel slightly overwhelmed. Glancing down at the swirls of color decorating the floor, he nearly flinches in alarm when Tony’s warm hand settles on his shoulder. The genius’s other hand comes up to cup the boy’s chin, tilting his head up and forcing their eyes to meet.

  
“I know that doing stuff like this makes you nervous kiddie,” his father says softly, dark eyes shining, “but I’m going to be keeping an eye on you the whole time.”

  
Peter forces himself to nod, shoving away the right coil of anxiety he can feel rolling his gut. He leans into his father’s touch for just a second, taking strength from the man’s comforting presence. Tony just watches him with soft eyes, pressing a kiss against the top of his head.

  
“I’m okay.” Peter says, pulling away and grabbing the door handle, the metal cool against his sweaty palm. “We can go in now, I promise.”

  
Tony studies him for a minute, and Peter smiles, trying in vain to make it not look as forced as it feels. Finally, the Billionaire sighs, laying an arm across his son’s shoulders and pushes the door open with his other.

  
The sound of the music becomes suddenly louder, swelling above the chatter of people and the clanking of glasses. Tony, after flashing Peter one last small, genuine smile, immediately raises a hand in greeting as a handful of information hungry journalists and power crazy politicians rampage over. They all begin to talk at once, shaking Tony’s hand and thankfully completely ignoring Peter as he scoots around.

  
_So much for being with me._

  
Wrapping his arms around his middle, the teen flinches slightly as the noise becomes increasingly louder, his Dad’s fake laugh and toothy smirk rising above the rest as he glances back. He seems to be ready to come over there, to check on his son, but Peter shoots him a small smile once more.

  
Then the crowd of people close around him and he is lost to Peter.

  
Shaking his head, Peter looks around, zeroing in on a darker corner couch, the only other occupant being a young man a little older then the teenager. Twisting his fingers together, the young Stark walks warily over, the hum of his anxiety a constant reminder of his unease. Huffing out a small breath, Peter sits on the edge of the couch, the cold leather making him shiver. He casts a quick glance at the other boy, looking away when their eyes meet.

  
“Some party, huh?” The stranger says, his voice at least an octave deeper then Peter’s. “The name’s Shane. My uncle owns a big company across town, but I’m just here for the free drinks.”

  
Peter shrugs, keeping his eyes on the small pieces of golden confetti raining down from the sky, the flashing lights from the dance floor casting warping shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, the young Stark sees Shane slam his now empty glass onto the table beside him, the ringing noise causing the teen to startle.

  
“So, what’s your name, beautiful?”

  
The older dude’s voice seems to have gotten closer, and, with a speed that almost cracks his neck, Peter looks back. The first thing he notices is how blue the man’s eyes are. The paleness of them, in contrast to his dark hair, was something Peter would have normally found attractive if it wasn’t for the way he was looking at him.

  
“I-I don’t—“ the young Stark starts to say, leaning back as Shane moves closer. “P-Peter. My name’s Peter.”

  
“ _Peter_.” Shane breathes out his name, not getting discouraged by the shudder the other boy tries to hide.

  
Brushing his dark hair from his face, Shane moves even closer to Peter, his breath reeking of alcohol and his hand moving toward the boy’s face. Peter scoots further away, nearly falling off of the couch and blushing as red as his father’s suit when Shane’s blue eyes cloud with amusement.

  
“Be careful there baby!” The older boy says with a wink, reaching his invasive hands out and pulling Peter back by his waist. “Wouldn’t want you to fall and ruin that pretty face.”

  
The young Stark shoves his hands off, looking around urgently for his Dad and praying that the man is nearby. By this time, his unease has gotten much much worse and the teenager has to force himself not to shudder. Suddenly, he stands up, cutting Shane off mid-egocentric rant and making the creepy man frown.

  
“I-I’m gonna go get a drink.” Peter says, taking a step back when the other boy stands up too, his large form blocking the Stark’s view.

  
“Nope, what you are going to do, sweet thing, is sit right back down and I’m going to go get _us_ some drinks.” Shane smirks, his immaculately white teeth glowing.

  
“No.” Peter responds, feeling more unease rise up in his gut when all the other teenager does is laugh, pushing him back against the couch and forcing the younger male to sit. “I-I have to find my Dad.”

  
Shane laughs again, his fingers spreading against Peter’s waist, the feeling dirty and wrong.

  
“I’m sure Daddy can wait a few minutes. Now sit there and be a good boy. I’ll be back in just a second.” Suddenly Shane’s voice goes cold, the hands that were rubbing against Peter’s hips getting tighter and making the young Stark tear up. “Don’t even _think_ about getting up from that seat, Petey.”

  
Then he was gone, melting into the sea of bodies like a predator into a field of tall grass.

  
Peter stares after him for a second, feeling the blood roaring in his ears as the ghost of Shane’s hands linger on his hips. Finally, he gets up, his steps suddenly unsteady as the older boy’s voice echoes through his head. Vaguely, Peter is sure he can hear his Dad’s voice over the rush of the crowd and he starts in that direction, ignoring the half drunken people he bumps into along the way.

  
Their alcohol glazed eyes, the whites glowing in the flashing lights, follow him without recognition and the young Stark fights down the shiver that runs across his body.

  
He barely makes it more then five feet when a strong hand suddenly grabs his wrist.

  
He is pulled backwards, his yelp of surprise getting sucked into the never ending noise, unnoticed. A few people shuffle out of the way across the room, his father coming into view for a split second, his attention on a man with graying hair and icy blue eyes almost exactly like Shane’s. Peter desperately reaches his free hand out, knowing that no matter how loud he yelled Tony would never be able to hear him.

  
Suddenly he is forced onto the couch again, Shane making sure to keep his grip tight enough to bruise. The older boy is towering above him, pressing Peter’s body into the cream leather and grinding against the seat. His eyes are burning with a horrifying mix of anger and arousal and Peter wants to throw up at the sight.

  
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a bad boy you were, baby.” Shane whispers in a mock coo, the hand not holding Peter down coming up to brush against his cheek. “I think you might need to be _punished_ for this behavior. . .”

  
The young Stark flinches, closing his eyes tightly as Shane grabs a fist-full of his hair, yanking his head back so fast his neck cracks. Peter gasps, squinting his watering eyes against the multicolored lights overhead.

  
“H-hey! Let go of m-me you asshole!” Peter says, ignoring the way talking hurts at this angle.

  
Struggling against the iron tight grip, the young Stark manages to hit Shane across the face, the teenager’s head snapping to the side from the force.

  
All seems to stop.

  
Peter, his heart filling with dread, squeezes his lips shut to avoid whimpering when Shane turns slowly back around. The other teen’s lip is dabbed in blood, his eyes as cold as ice and his hand pulling Peter’s head back further. The 14 year old gasps involuntarily, the sharp pain caused by the motion making his head throb. Vainly he is aware of a glass being forced to his parted lips, but it isn’t until the content is spilling down his throat that he decides to react.

  
Coughing, Peter is relieved when Shane steps back, but his comfort is short lived when he sees the wide grin stretching the other male’s face.

  
“What’d the hell you just give me?!” Peter sputters, raising his hand to grasp the edge of the table as the world seems to spin.

  
Shane, his wide smile twirling around like a top, crouches in front of Peter, who attempts to push the boy’s hands away from his face when he gets too close. But the young Stark misses, toppling against Shane. Shane, for his part, doesn’t look surprised, grabbing onto Peter as the younger male clumsily attempts to escape.

  
“No, no no no _please_. . .” Peter whines, his motions blurring in front of him as whatever Shane forced him to drink takes effect. “Please stop. . .”

  
Floating blue eyes glare down at him, rough hands grabbing and pushing, rubbing against his thighs and ass. A deep, throaty moan makes his body vibrate, wet and invasive lips leaving a trail of red spots down his neck, licking the tears that escape the young Stark’s blurring eyes. Small wounded sounds escape from him unbidden, getting swallowed by the dark leather pressing again the sides of his head, caging his body from the sides as Shane grinds from the top.

  
The other boy is groaning, a mixture of curse words and Peter’s name that he knows is going to haunt his dreams for a long while. Peter tries to move, to call for his Dad and get the monster off of him, but his body doesn’t seem to want to corporate, the room whirling around him in a sea of muffled colors and sounds.

  
Shane seems to grow tired of him neck, instead moving onto Peter’s lips and biting hard, the cut on his lip spearing red all over Peter’s pale face. Vaguely, Peter can taste a burst of copper, the rust of it combining with the bile sliding up from his stomach. The effect burns his throat, making it almost impossible to scream even if he wanted to.

  
Finally, he gives up his weak struggles, going limp under Shane and surrendering to the horrific fate that awaits him, trying to control his muffled hiccuping sobs.

  
“Oh yeah baby, so good, _Peter_. . .” Shane is gasping between violent kisses, thrusting his hips against Peter’s and pulling his dirty fingers through the young Stark’s hair. “S-such a good boy for me, aren’t you sweetness?”

  
Peter tries to tell him no, that he is not Shane’s anything and to kindly fuck off but all he manages is a weak moan of agony, his hands getting pinned between them. Shane’s shifts above him, a raspy curse drawing from his still bleeding mouth as his body tenses, his hand coming down from Peter’s hair to travel down his stomach.

  
He ignores the other boy’s struggles as his fingers dip below Peter’s waist, undoing the black pants with ease and pulling them down to his knees. Peter can feel his face burn, the cooler air around them soaking into his now exposed thighs and forcing a shiver to trickle down his spine, his wet sobs and whines of terror and pain echoing through his head as the lights above them streak across his vision.

  
Shane has just wrapped his fingers around the waist line of Peter’s underwear when he is suddenly ripped away, his grunt of pleasure quickly turning to pain.

  
Peter can hear shouts, the thump of a body hitting the wall behind him ringing in his ears as he weakly sits up, letting out a whimper as his head throbs.

  
The first thing that comes into focus when he blinks away the fog is Shane’s face twisted in pain, his blue eyes clouded and watery. His hands, long fingers twisting and pulling, are wrapped around Tony’s own, struggling against the death grip the enraged man has on his neck. His feet are kicking the wall, thumping along with the still playing bass in the background as the whole party goes completely silent and still, all alcohol glazed eyes turning toward the show.

  
Tony is heaving, his brown eyes dark with rage and his lips pulling up in a wet snarl, spitting in the face of the teenager locked in his hands. They are floating slightly above the couch, the Iron Man Suit having wrapped around the elder Stark’s lower body almost as soon as he happened to glance over a few seconds earlier.

  
“I should _fucking_ kill you.” Tony whispers, his teeth bared and his grip becoming tighter as Shane gasps for air. “I should snap your good for nothing, disgusting neck and. . . “

  
The rest of his furious speech is lost to Peter, his whole head pulsing as he slumps once more against the couch, the leather cool against his suddenly overheated forehead. Vaguely he is aware of a man, the same one his Dad was speaking with earlier, make his way through the stunned crowd and stumble over to the two of them, passing Peter with only a second glance.

  
His old face is pinched in bewildered anger, familiar blue eyes causing a shudder of fear to pass through Peter and he lets out another sob, muffled by the leather pressing against his face.

  
“Tony, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man asks, voice foggy in the haze.

  
He is stopped a few feet from Peter, and the boy tries his hardest to pay attention, blinking furiously against the drug infecting his system.

  
The crowd surrounding them takes an almost synchronized step back as Tony suddenly freezes, turning his head around to look over his shoulder, his hands continuing to hold Shane in place. His eyes are like ice, hard and glaring at the man below him.

  
“What the _fuck_ does it look like I’m doing, Philips?” The genius sneers, “Your sick, little mother fucking bastard of a Nephew decide that he would _drug and try to fucking rape my child!”_

  
Tony’s voice raises on the last line, straining out of his mouth as he pants in pure animalistic fury, lunging at the now weakly struggling Shane as his Uncle takes one more brave step forward.

  
“You’re lying.” Philips accuses quietly, hands clenching to fists against his sides and his legs locking up, standing as tall as he can and trying to control the shiver of fear that passes through him when Tony stops again.

  
He turns around slowly, face pale white and lips quivering as he suddenly releases Shane. The teenager falls to the floor almost immediately, gasping for air and choking on raspy coughs, one hand rubbing his neck and the other helping to prop himself up as he hacks. He makes a move to stand up but one glare from Tony above him has the blue eyed bastard shrinking back in fear.

  
Peter notices that his eyes never stop straying over to his form, even when the young Stark finally manages to sit slightly up, breath heaving and cold sweat sliding down his back.

  
“I’m sorry?” Tony hisses, voice almost simmering the air around him as his Arc Reactor glows. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  
He makes his way over to the now trembling Philips, the metal boots of his suit shaking the floor with each heavy step. His palms begin to glow as the metal surrounding his legs slides upwards, covering his hands and chest with a soft snap. He stops after a few feet, however, making sure to keep his body in-between the still slumped over teenager on the floor and his son.

  
Philips licks his lips, eyes flickering between his Nephew and Tony as the man leers over him.

  
“I-I said that you’re l-lying.” He squeaks.

  
Tony cocks his head to the side, a deep rumble filling his chest. The other partiers continue to watch, sipping wine and guzzling down vodka as the very temperature appears to drop. Security guards push through the crowd, all coming to a halt the second they see the enraged Iron Man.

  
“You seriously think I’m lying, you ugly piece of shit? You honestly think that I’d lie about something like this?”

  
When Philips doesn’t answer, Tony points behind him with one trembling finger, eyes holding a mix of unimaginable pain and rage as all gazes in the room follow the movement.

  
“Why don’t you say that to _him_?!”

  
Peter lets out a cry as he looks up from attempting to pull his pants up, the blood still dripping from his lip running down his neck and mixing with the bruising and welts. His eyes swim as people immediately look away, some of the more sober ones letting out shocked gasps at the sight, others looking on with glazed, drunken eyes.

  
“You look at my poor, _innocent_ son’s face and you tell me if you think I’m lying!” Tony snaps, already beginning to back away toward the now sobbing Peter as the other participants get shoved out of the Ball Room by the Security Guards.

  
“I-I don’t—I mean—“

  
Philips continues to stutter for a few seconds before giving up, instead choosing to watch with a twisted face as Security Guards drag his Nephew away. Shane’s face is a mask of dark purple and blue bruises, his own small river of red flowing down his face and dotting the floor. His eyes are barely open, the hand prints on his neck becoming darker as he is dragged into a pocket of shadow. His gaze is haunted, like a prisoner of war being hauled in for his long waited execution.

  
Peter can’t find it in himself to feel any sort of remorse, no matter how far down into his very soul he digs.

  
He just looks on through his tears, feeling something loosen deep inside his chest as the monster’s dress shoes disappear behind the entrance door, red and blue lights reflecting in the glass. Philips follows soon after, not looking either Stark in the eye as he passes.

  
The door bangs shut behind them, the sound echoing throughout the now empty room as Police Officers begin to tape up the outside, the neon yellow bright to Peter’s eyes. The multi-colored lights overhead suddenly shut off, leaving both Starks in a sort of hazy, semi-darkness as the music comes to an abrupt halt.

  
Peter shudders in the cool air, clumsily trying to grasp his father’s shirt as the man slips onto the sofa beside him, pulling the crying teenager into his lap and kissing his forehead repeatedly.

  
“Oh my God, Peter, I’m so sorry!” Tony rasps, running his fingers through the young Stark’s hair and rocking them back and forth. “Oh God, baby, I should have been paying attention—“

  
Peter cuts him off, gripping Tony’s shoulder as the man carefully lifts him up, pulling his pants up with a sharp tug and giving the boy a sliver of redemption.

  
“S’t not your fault Dad. I sho-should have been stronger—I couldn’t get him off of me, I-I _couldn’t get him off Daddy!_ ” Peter’s voice cracks and he dissolves into sobs once more, the cries burning his throat and his mouth tasting of rust.

  
Tony just shushes him, holding him close and kissing his head. “It’s okay now, kiddie, it’s okay. I’ve got you Pete, shh sweetheart shh. . .”

  
Finally Peter quiets, watching with half open eyes as the Policemen that were outside slowly make their way in, shoes tapping on the confetti littered floor. They stop a couple of steps away from the two Starks, shifting their feet as they say something to Tony, the man’s respond sounding only like a deep rumble to Peter’s ears.

  
A cool hand suddenly tilts his face, causing the young boy to flinch back in alarm, pushing his throbbing face into his Daddy’s warm chest as the man shifts. His hand doesn’t stop its soothing motions, but Tony carefully moves Peter’s face back out into the world despite the weak protests.

  
“It’s just the paramedics, honey. They’re here to help you.” The genius reassures Peter softly, making a pleased sound deep in his throat when his son stops his struggles.

  
Peter reluctantly lets the unknown Nurse looks over his face and neck, only flinching occasionally and gripping his Dad’s hands when his wounds give a particularly viscous sting.

  
“What. . . drugs. . .system?” Tony asks somewhere above him, his question getting cut off as Peter starts to slip into darkness.

  
A soft female voice answers, the gloved hands that were once touching Peter’s neck getting replaced with a soft cloth, the material damp with medication.

  
“He’ll be okay. . . give. . . couple hours. . .wear off.”

  
Tony seems to like that answer, his chest leaking out a long sigh as the squeak of rubber wheels suddenly fills up the large room, breaking the small dose of silence that fell. Peter feels himself get lifted, feet dangling in open air for just a second before a soft, thin sheet touches his back. He tries to open his eyes, mumbling smushed, panicked versions of his father’s name as he blindly gropes for the man. Warm, calluses hands find his, long fingers curling around his own and a scruffy kiss is planted on his brow.

  
“I’m right here Kiddo.” Tony says.

  
Peter immediately leans back against him when he climbs into the cot, nuzzling his now bandaged face into the Billionaire’s chest and lets out a soft huff of relief. They start to move after a second, the pain in Peter’s face and back sparking up for a split second and making him tense. Then, with a sudden prick in his arm, the pain is gone, but the floaty feeling returns with renewed force.

  
Peter panics for a split second, heart in his throat as the stretcher comes to a soft halt, the sound of the doors opening cutting through the established silence. His grip on Tony tightens and he fights the drowsy feeling that makes his whole body warm.

  
_“It’s okay, Peter. You’re safe kiddie, I promise.”_

  
His Dad’s voice is far away and murky, drowning in the sea of softness now engulfing the young Stark’s brain. Peter huffs, sucking in Tony’s comforting scent and vaguely feels the arms wrapped around him tighten.

  
Then the doors to the hotel ballroom opens, cool and fresh air fills his lungs and Peter surrenders to the darkness calling to him, safe in the arms of the man that will always do everything in his power to protect him.

  
There is no place Peter would rather be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really like the ending of this but eh *shrug*
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing!;)


End file.
